The Drive Thru Fiasco
by manspirations
Summary: Both friends decide to stop at McDonalds on the way home from school. At the same time.


They should call this harassment. All these fast food places lined up, reminding them of their shitty school lunch. Danny's stomach rumbled as he fiddled with the radio station. Still, Jackson kept driving. Every day. It got them every single damn day. Today they'd do things differently.

"We should-" Danny started but Jackson didn't let him finish. They were better than the average American so, they had to start acting like it. He shot past Taco Bell, Wendy's, Chipotle, Jack and the Box, Subway, Burger King, In and Out Burger, Carl's Jr, KFC, all of them. The cars both behind and in front of them lost to their desires, eventually swiveling into one of the openings. Beside him, Danny huffed, clutching his metaphorical gut.

"Stop it."

"You know we'll work it off. This is torture!" Danny whined, his cheek nearly smushed against the window, as if he could morph himself into Panda Express. Jackson forced himself to remain firm; his face tightened, smoothing away all the amusement begging to show. Up ahead, the holy grail of restaurants popped into view. Gold arches. French fry smell from a mile away. Oh god, he was cracking. Jackson gripped his hand tight to the ribbed steering wheel.

"Fuck it." He swiveled before it was too late, joining the line of other losers.

"But bro! How could she do this to me? Isaac? AGAIN?!" Scott threw his head back against the seat dramatically and Stiles winced at the imprint it'd leave in the seat. His baby was a precious jewel; they should treat him as such. "Life sucks." The poor guy, still hung up on Allison. They had this conversation many times. Still, he had to play his best friend role.

"Don't worry about their failures. You got your own girl. Or have you forgotten?" He glanced at Scott, giving him the get-it-together look. Scott pounded his head against the headrest again at the mention of Kira. Stiles saw the rant on his lips before he opened them. Another rant was the last thing he wanted. "You know I'm here for you and all but, hell no." Stiles accentuated the word by whipping his head around wildly. "It's freaking Friday. I refuse to let you wallow in sad person tears and Real World marathons. You. Me. My house. A shit ton of McDonalds. And absolutely no mention of those two backstabbing douche faces. Got it?" He took his eyes off the road for one minute to pivot his whole body towards his best friend. Scott pouted, his entire face basically falling to the floorboard. Stiles reached over, pinching those puffy cheeks and turned that frown right-side up. The more Scott resisted, the harder he pulled.

"Ok. Ok. Stop!" Scott chuckled, pinching Stiles's skin in retaliation. Gladly, Stiles released, mostly so he could avoid another car collision. Carefully, he turned into the entrance. The sign welcomed their existence. "You try the McRib yet? Isaac says-" Scott paused, his mind floating back to Isaac and Allison.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Isaac this. Isaac that. They should threesome it out and move on. "No, I haven't tried the McRib and neither will you. I'm thinking more of the Fish..." The car in front of his stopped his thought. "Well, look at what we got here."

"What? Is it Allison?" Scott whipped his head around, searching for her blue compact Prius. "Oh. It's just Jackson. So what?" Scott glared at the sleek Porsche inching closer to the brightly-colored menu.

"So what?" Stiles smirked deviously, his smile portraying all of the sick twisted pranks swirling through his head. "This is the single best thing to happen today. Watch and learn." He yanked his phone from his pocket.

Two cars away from the monitor, both of their phones vibrated. Curious, they glanced at one another, down at their phones, and grabbed them hesitantly.

**How would coach feel with his star players eating McDonalds? tsk tsk**

Fucking Stilinski, he should have known. Jackson rotated to find Stiles waving wildly at them. Danny followed his gaze, "God, he's so weird," he commented before shifting back around and dropping his phone back into his lap. Unlike Danny, he never could resists a good hate session with Stiles. They always rubbed together in the worst ways.

_At least he would feel something. Benchwarmers get nothing. _He shot off quickly, ignoring Danny's mild grin. They moved forward one car worth when Stiles texted him back.

**Yeah cause we looove spit flying at our faces. **

_I dont want to knw what shit you get up to_

**But don't you tho. why else would u still b textin me?**

Dammit. He raised a valid point; Jackson stashed his phone in the center console's hidden compartment. He ignored the incessant vibration until curiosity influenced his actions. Danny scoffed as he ripped open the armrest to snatch up his phone. He'd only read them, not respond.

**Ah Ha! **

**You want all up in this stilinski koolaid. **

**It's ok to want us Jackson.**

**We're hot shit.**

**Well, I am. Scotty is sad shit. very very sad warm shit**

He stopped reading them to order food, a Grilled Chicken Clubhouse and fries for Danny and a Filet-O-Fish meal for him, with a side salad. "Drive around for your total." The unenthusiastic girl droned over the speaker, dismissing them. Moving maybe a few inches, he shifted back to his phone.

**shit so sad its sobbing. **

_eww. stop texting me. _

**Whats the magic word?**

_If you don't stop texting me I will ram that shit jeep and sue you for all your sad life is worth?_

**Rude but nope. 1220 calories. **

_How the hell is that the magic word?_

**Thats what you and danny boy are bout to ingest. have fun with explosive diarrhea. **

Jackson actually guffawed a laugh at that, handing his card over to the first window girl. She, much cheerful than the other girl, smiled blindly at them. Before he could process the words, he told her, "I got the car behind us too." Both she, Danny, and his brain questioned his sanity as she swiped for Stiles and Scott's meal as well. Danny tracked him with one eye arched over in a confused yet amused speculation. "Shut up." He grumbled, tossing the heated paper bags into Danny's lap. They drove off without a word spoken between them. Halfway to the house, his phone celebrated an incoming call. Jackson didn't even glance at it, already knowing Stiles waited on the other end.

"Yes, Stilinski?" He said, tucking the phone in between his ear. Danny side-glanced him from behind his Grilled Chicken Club.

"Fuck you. Don't think you're better than me. You are not better than me. I can afford my own goddamn food, Jackson." Stiles rumbled in his ear. Most of the words jumbled together because of the mouthful of fries in his mouth. Jackson could picture that thing in his brain, stretched to the brim, forcing more and more inside. He almost grinned at the image before Danny's presence brought him back to their conversation. Stiles shouted his name, "Jackson. Hellooo. Don't try to ignore me. I can hear your smug face breathing. I can buy my own food."

Before he could talk, Danny snatched the phone to toggle on speakerphone. Without having a real reason to be irritated by Danny's nosiness, he channeled his aggravation into Stiles. "Your meal begs to differ. It's ok. Nobody blames you for being poor."

"Fuck you, asshole." The gears began to turn in Stiles's brain and he could hear Scott sighing in the background. "Tomorrow night. 8pm. Meet me at the diner. You can get whatever your spoiled ass wants and I'll buy it."

"Is that a challenge, Stilinski?" He smirked, loving to ruffle Stiles's feathers.

"It's whatever you want it to be, _Whittemore._" Stiles griped through his clenched jaw.

"Make it the Steakhouse and I'll be there."

"Fine."

"Fine." He mimicked Stiles's voice, purposefully raising his voice in pitch.

"Ugh. Don't be late." Stiles ended the call, leaving them staring at his phone. Jackson pulled into Danny's driveway, minutes later, still contemplating what he agreed too. Danny, barely controlling his twisted smile, glanced between him and his phone, as if it represented Stiles's person.

"Did you just…fight your way into a date with Stiles?"

Jackson scowled at the idea. "No." Then, he thought about it: the low lighting of the fancy Steakhouse, the dinner for two designed menus, and the larger deserts. "Dammit." He cursed under his breath, but Danny heard him anyway. His own best friend laughed at his misfortune; his whole body quaked with uncontrollable merriment. Jackson didn't wait around to watch the show. He grabbed his bags and stormed out the car. Oddly, he was more pissed about Danny's teasing than spending an entire dinner bickering with Stiles Stilinski. At least, he found entertainment in the latter.

Danny followed behind him wheezing for breath, "Ehh, you could do worst. You have done worst." He didn't have to mention the girl in mind, his rebound after Lydia. "I hear he likes red," he said, winking as he unlocked the front door.

"Fuck off." He pushed through the door, masking his tiny smile until he followed Danny upstairs to his room.

Twenty-eight hours later, when Jackson pulled into the parking lot, Stiles gave him a slow once over. He smirked, pushing off the Jeep with his hands buried in the pocket of his ironed khakis. Jackson, shameless, stole a perusal of his own, noting how Stilinski's clothes actually fit his body. At the front door, Stiles opened it for him, gesturing dramatically for him to go inside. Once inside, they waited for the maître to seat them. With nothing better to do, Stiles blatantly checked him out in the low lighting. "Red. I like it." Stiles complimented his button down, flicking the fabric peeking out from under his blazer. The rough balls of his knuckles scraped Jackson's jaw and suppressed a groan.

"Fuck off. It's maroon."

Stiles chuckled. Finally, the maître led them to a table. In the furthest corner. Surrounded by Jasmine Vanilla scented candles. Away from direct view of the other guests. Fuck his life.


End file.
